Lots of ministers I know are planning for renewal leave. This makes me so happy! I celebrate alongside the clergy who are getting a break from their rewarding yet demanding vocation, and I am grateful for congregations who see the value of an extended time away for ministers.

Renewal leave is different than vacation. It’s not just about the length, which is usually measured in months rather than weeks. There’s much more trust involved on both sides. Pastors count on their people to carry on the work of the church. Congregations expect that their ministers will return to them with energy and creativity after the time away.

Because renewal leave is significant for all involved, I have written the following prayer for the clergyperson’s last worship service before leaving. Feel free to use it as you see fit. It will work best with the minister reading her/his/their respective parts and a lay leader leading the people in the lines from the chancel.

People: On the seventh day of creation, God took a step back from all that hard, holy work and rested. 

Minister: That rejuvenation, just like all of creation, was very good.

People: And so it was that God wove the design for replenishment into the fabric of creation itself.

Minister: All of us, made in God's very image, are intended to take time away for renewal. 

People: We celebrate today that our minister is taking a season for purposeful rest.

Minister: I love you all, and I love being your minister. 

People: We love you, and we are grateful for your leadership and care and for the chance to be in ministry with you.

Minister: This time away will help me be the best possible minister for you. It will permit me to tend more fully to my body, mind, and spirit so that I can help you do the same.

People: This time away will help us be the best possible partners for you. [Choose one of the following here: “It will allow us time to prepare ourselves for the next season of ministry” or “It will call upon us to step into gaps caused by your absence and allow us to own even more our gifts for leadership.”]

Minister: Thank you for this opportunity to take renewal leave. I bless you during this season when we are apart, yet always together as parts of Christ's body.

People: Thank you for modeling sabbath for us in the midst of a world that too often prioritizes productivity. We bless you during this season when we are apart, yet always together as parts of Christ's body.

All: At the end of this renewal leave, may we look back and know, as people created by God and continually re-created by rest, that it was very good for us all.

Photo by Yu Kato on Unsplash.

[Note: I originally offered this resource five years ago, and it continues to be one of my favorites. Like 2020, I think this might be a particularly poignant and important year to spend ample time remembering those we have lost.]

Sometimes I wish All Saints’ Day could be more than, well, one day. Our lives are shaped by so many people who have gone before, whether we knew them personally or not. I think we could all benefit from reflecting on their influence and considering what parts of their legacies to carry forward.

Since All Saints’ Day is November 1, and since we are already inclined toward thanks-living during November, I have put together a month-long prayer calendar with daily prompts to remember a departed saint whose impact has been significant. This calendar is available as a copier-friendly PDF. Feel free to share the calendar on social media, print it for your church members or yourself, or use it as your November newsletter article.

A couple of months ago, I believed my turn at vaccination against Covid-19 was way in the distance. But I suddenly found myself with an appointment in late February, and now here I am, fully inoculated. I cannot overstate how grateful I am to have had my turn. (Please take yours when it comes up!)

I’m not the only one with this sense of whiplash. The vaccine rollout was so slow, so discombobulated, at first that normal-ish still seemed out of reach for many of us. But then production ramped up and more vaccination sites opened. All people ages 16 and up in my state are now eligible to receive their doses, and President Biden stated that all adults could have had shots in arms by July 4.

This is fantastic news. It means that the timeline for fully returning in in-person church activities has shortened greatly. And that means that the conversations pastors were planning to have about what post-pandemic church looks like need to start happening now.

Most clergy knew pre-Covid that the church was headed toward major changes - or at least needed to be. Congregations are shrinking. In many cases it’s because members have dug in their heels, building fortresses around ministries that feel familiar instead of responding to the gifts and needs of younger demographics and surrounding communities. When the pandemic struck, so much had to change for safety reasons. And while we all have an understandable desire to reclaim our lives and our routines, we must not pass up this opportunity to think about what could be faithfully different. We might not ever get another moment like this - to reflect on God’s dream instead of simply springing back to what was - while our churches still have critical mass and decent budgets and a chance to flourish.

I believe that the world needs the church. At their best, congregations connect us to each other and to God, affirm the goodness of each person made in God’s image, promote thriving by accompanying people through life’s peaks and valleys and giving them tools to make meaning out of those experiences, offer tangible help to those inside and outside its walls, and push for equity based on the teachings and example of Jesus. Let’s imagine together what this can look like at this time, in our evolving contexts. Here are some questions to reflect on the learnings of the past year and prompt forward-thinking discussion:

• What has this church done well for a long time?

• What did we learn was possible this year that we didn't know before?

• How have these learnings excited us? Revealed God at work among us and through us? Built on whom we know ourselves to be (or whom we aspire to be) as a congregation?

• What have we learned this year about what we want to stop doing?

• What have we missed doing this year that we want to pick back up?

• What do we want our role in this community to be?

• What gaps do we need to fill in to make this happen?

• What do we want to try and then reflect further on based on all of the above?

• How might these choices help us live more fully into our values as a congregation?

As we move into the season of Easter (in which Jesus invites us to consider what resurrection means for us) and Pentecost (in which we celebrate the openness of Jesus’ followers to new people and ways), there is no better time liturgically and public health-wise to consider what God is nudging us toward. If we wait too long to have these conversations, our church members might settle so deeply back into the worn places in their seats that we’ll have to wait for another crisis to drive us to change - or to close our doors permanently.

Photo by Debby Hudson on Unsplash.

It’s election day here in the U.S., God.

My head knows that you are at work in whatever happens.

But if I’m honest,

my heart is sick with worry about what the returns might bring.

My faith is not in vote tallies,

but they don’t just tell us who will hold office,

they reflect the lived values of our country.

My hope does not rest in institutions or leaders,

but both have the power to make decisions that lead to great good and great harm.

And this election in particular…it feels different.

The battle lines are sharp and thick.

We’ve all been army crawling through the past eight months.

The past four years have felt like the plot line of a YA dystopian novel.

While my heels rest on solid ground,

my toes wiggle over a precipice.

Help.

Send your Spirit of clarity to allow me - us - to assess the situation fully.

Send your Spirit of courage to gird us up to respond as needed.

Send your Spirit of compassion to bind us together in service to the good of all.

Send your Spirit of peace to ground us in what is eternal rather than in the anxiety of the moment.

May we be your people

just as you are our God,

now and forever.

Amen.

Photo by Tiffany Tertipes on Unsplash.

Advent and Christmas are hectic - for pastors and their families, for everyone. All of us want to experience the meaning of the season, not just rush from one activity or event to the next. And yet, it can be hard to know how.

Author and Presbyterian pastor (and all-around amazing human being) Traci Smith shows us the way in Faithful Families for Advent and Christmas: 100 Ways to Make the Season Sacred. In this more liturgically-focused riff on her book Faithful Families: Creating Sacred Moments at Home - which I also highly recommend - she offers accessible descriptions of the seasons and its themes and a range of prayers and activities that can be used with all ages. What I love most is that Traci designs these moments to take as little or as much time as you like and to be very low-stress and low-prep. She holds her offerings lightly, encouraging families to tailor them. And she gives the reader permission not to try all of the suggestions, modeling her advice to streamline the season overall.

Faithful Families for Advent and Christmas would be a handy guide for ministry leaders and caregivers in any year. The book is especially timely for 2020, when it seems certain that Advent and Christmas will look a lot different and much of its observance will be home-based. (There’s even a section on acknowledging big feelings during the holidays, which might come in very handy.) Traci gives permission for churches to use a certain number of selections in its communications, though if your congregation has the resources, the book as a whole would be a boon to families.

I will be using this book when the church calendar flips over. Some sections will be for our family of three. Others I will undertake on my own, because the simple beauty of the language and practices speaks to me in a time when everything seems so complicated.

God who designed a variety of seasons,

I’ll confess: fall is my favorite.

I celebrate the break in the heat.

I relish hearing college football in the background on Saturdays.

I swoon at the smells of chili and cinnamon.

I delight in scooping out pumpkin guts and carving jack-o-lanterns.

I eagerly await seeing kids in costumes.

I stockpile Reese’s and Peppermint Patties at day-after-Halloween sales.

I feel swaddled by the lengthening nights.

Thank you, thank you God, for fall.

Not all that I love about this season is possible this year. I get it.

So I think I’ll pray for a different kind of fall,

one that will really be memorable

and make all the seasons better.

I pray for the fall of White supremacy, in which people who look like me benefit from individual and systemic discrimination against people with Black and Brown skin.

I pray for the fall of the patriarchy, in which women’s options and pay are inversely proportional to the expectations put upon them.

I pray for the fall of fascism, in which suppression and intolerance snuff out the beauty of diversity and creativity.

I pray for the fall of greed, in which those who already have much try to grab up even more at the expense of others.

May these leaves fall to the ground, be gathered up, and burned so that beautiful, equitable life might sprout in their place.

Who knows? When that happens, spring might be my new favorite.

Amen.

Photo by Patrick Tomasso on Unsplash.

Creating God,

you wove a pattern of work and rest into the design of the universe:

making good things for six days and consecrating the seventh for sabbath,

giving our bodies a daily rhythm of productivity and sleep,

and even mirroring this starting and stopping in nature

by prompting plants to bloom and then lie dormant.

On this Labor Day weekend we celebrate good work, paid and unpaid:

shaping our days,

giving us purpose,

utilizing the range of skills you gifted humanity with,

making it possible for us to buy both essentials and extras

until we reach retirement

and live out our days on the saved-up fruits of our labors.

At least, that’s the idea.

But some people work multiple jobs and still cannot make ends meet.

Some people cannot find employment because they have criminal records.

Some people reside in areas where jobs are scarce.

Some people are discriminated against in the hiring process because of their race, ethnicity, gender, sexual orientation, disability, or religion.

And during this pandemic, work is all the more fraught.

Many jobs increase employees’ exposure to the virus.

Many employers have closed up shop.

Many childcare options for workers with young children have disappeared.

Rest at the end of each workday is hard to come by because of anxiety and limited leisure outlets.

Re-creating God, help us.

Give us work we can feel good about,

protect us from harm as we go about it,

provide for those who are unable to work or whose work does not pay fairly,

open the hearts and minds of those who have jobs to offer,

highlight what needs to shift in our economy so that all might know abundance,

and inspire and empower us to change systemic inequities.

Make it possible for us to look at our collective labors and say, “It is good”

before taking a holy nap.

These things we ask in the name of a Christ who both hit the road and hid out for breaks.

Amen.

My son last received formal instruction from his school on March 13, meaning first grade effectively ended for him on that day. Five months later, he is about to begin second grade. In that between time his school system, like every other one across the United States, has brainstormed, changed course, planned, and crossed its fingers for the academic year to come. In that time my spouse and I, like many parents across the United States, have wondered, fretted, been faced with impossible choices that we changed our minds about almost daily, and settled uneasily on the best path forward for our family. If you - or the people in your care - are in this situation, here’s a prayer that you’re welcome to use and share. Peace be with you.

God our help in ages past and hope for years to come,

we approach the beginning of this cycle of formal education with all the typical emotions:

excitement, uncertainty, disappointment at the end of summer, grief about the passage of time.

This year, though, that’s not all.

Over this summer the Covid-19 infection rate has trended up.

So schools and school systems have pivoted and planned to the best of their abilities for the education and safety of their students.

So parents have debated the educational options and second-guessed their choices for their children.

So faculty and staff have asked hard, important questions - many of which remain unanswered - about adequate access to cleaning supplies and protocols if someone gets sick.

Now here we are on the precipice, hoping for the best but terrified to send our loved ones into potential outbreak incubators.

It is too much.

It is too much to ask of our educational institutions that they meet so many community needs that kids’ attendance at them becomes essential for some families.

It is too much to ask of parents to give up income and calling to stay home with virtual learners to decrease exposure.

It is too much to ask of faculty and staff to overhaul their teaching approach or risk their lives (and potentially those of their loved ones) for not enough pay or respect.

And so we pray, fervently.

For good health, above all.

For peace with our hard-wrought decisions, whatever they are.

For compassion toward all, recognizing we’re all doing the best we can.

For enough for those scraping by with less income.

For flexibility and resilience, which we’ll all have opportunities to deepen.

For learning, whether or not it’s of the “academic” variety.

For connection across the cloud and across physical distancing restrictions.

For an increased awareness of the struggles of those around us and ways we can safely help one another.

For a long-term commitment to change systems that don’t serve us all equitably.

May we remember that you go with us wherever we go - or don’t go.

May we grow our dependence on you through this time.

And may we yet wrestle a blessing out of this terrible mess, leaving us changed for the better.

We pray these things in the name of the Christ who hurts with us

and by the power of the Spirit who gives us courage.

Amen.

Photo by Vera Davidova on Unsplash.

Note: This post was originally set to run last week, but I wimped out. “It’s not the right forum,” I thought. “It’s a little too political.” But since I set being more vulnerable as one of my goals for 2018, I decided this prayer was a place to start. And while my focus on this blog will continue to be on clergy and congregational well-being, there’s no denying that the gospel we root our ministry in is, in fact, political.

Dear God.

Wow. I thought 2016 was terrible,

but then 2017 said,

“Heh. Watch this!”

All manner of natural disasters destroyed human lives and whole communities and economies.

White supremacy showed itself as bold as it’s ever been, maybe more so.

Our country crept closer to nuclear war, tweet by tweet.

We realized that sexual harassment and assault are even more epidemic than we realized.

The people we elected to work on our behalf tried to rip healthcare away from the most vulnerable and passed a tax plan that will concentrate even more wealth among those who already have plenty.

People had new laws, new insults, new dangers heaped upon them based on their sexual and/or gender identities.

Civil dialogue and bipartisan cooperation appeared to take their last breaths.

We turned away refugees fleeing danger and prepared to send “home” people who have only known this country.

We demonized people based on our shallow understanding of their religious faith.

We ignored science and continued using up the earth and her resources like toilet paper.

We (I) got frustrated with people who didn’t share our ideals and cut them out of our lives.

We (I) appalled ourselves with some of the thoughts we (I) had about these same people, fellow children of God.

That’s a lot of suckage, and it doesn’t even touch the personal traumas we all endured.

But.

I made some new friends this year, people I would never have met if we weren’t knitted together by our concerns for all the crap I just mentioned.

I was shaken out of complacency and compelled and equipped to be a more engaged citizen.

I was forced to take a deep look at my own internalized bigotry and to chip away at it through listening, learning, and interaction.

I stopped holding my cards so close to my vest.

I heeded a bigger, bolder call to discipleship.

I became a lot more dependent on my prayer life.

I noted old, dysfunctional systems and beliefs beginning to crumble around me.

I witnessed the power of women at work.

I saw evil get dragged into the light of day again and again, where it could be defanged.

I spotted God-glimmers in places I least expected them and often when I was at my lowest.

I laughed a lot, delighted in my loved ones and in my work, and felt gratitude for all that I have.

I was reminded that humankind partners with you to bring about justice and peace here and now.

I was, at the same time, shown anew that our ultimate hope is in you.

Whose presence is constant.

Whose love is abiding.

Whose preference is for those on the margins.

Whose promises are sure.

And so, I believe that 2018 will be better, even if it’s worse.

As we begin it,

I pray that you would give us daily bread as fuel,

and wisdom to know how best to embody your care,

and fierceness then to do it,

and generosity with all that we have,

and companions for whatever lies ahead,

and heart eyes to see the divine light in others,

and strength with heaping sides of humility and vulnerability,

and rest when it’s needed,

and joy in the midst of it all.

May we – with your help – be your harbingers of hope to a world in desperate need of it as we move about our days.

Dear God, I believe. Help my unbelief.

Jesus’ disciple went to the authorities and asked,

What will you give me…

What monetary reward?

What recognition?

What reassurance?

What relief?

…if I betray Jesus to you?

if I take you to him when he is most vulnerable?

if I deny his divinity?

if I ignore his teachings and his example?

if I turn my back on his love for me?

I do this every day.

I betray Jesus

for the love of wealth

for the love of power

for the love of security

for the love of comfort

for things and feelings that are fleeting and fake.

And yet, fully knowing that I will turn on him

– even as I say, Surely not I? –

Jesus invites me to his table,

feeds me with the bread of life,

and offers me the cup of the covenant, saying,

Drink from it, all of you.

I guess “all” truly does mean all,

thanks be to God.

I guess I’d better start living like it.

God of all creation,

you made the world we know out of a dark and formless void.

Before your breath swept across the face of the waters,

there was no light.

No sky.

No land.

No way of marking time.

No vegetation.

No animals.

No humans.

You made everything out of nothing, out of chaos.

And it was all good.

On behalf of everyone whose life feels out of control this morning,

who wonders how anything good could come out of such mess,

we pray to you this morning.

Where there is fear, let there be courage.

Where there is discord, let there be unity.

Where there is sickness, let there be healing.

Where there is oppression, let there be liberation.

Where there is loneliness, let there be connection.

Where there is worry, let there be peace.

Where there is want, let there be enough.

Use us, your people, to bring about all of this good,

because in your blueprint,

you bestowed upon humankind responsibility for all living things.

Prompt each one of us,

whether we are the leader of the free world

or have no formal position of power,

to use the skills and influence you have given us

in ways that make your world a place that is more just

more interdependent

more joyful

more beautiful

more sustainable.

These things we ask in the name of Jesus,

who came to redeem the brokenness in all that you made,

and by the power of the Spirit, which recreates us on a daily basis. Amen.